Winter's Blossom: The Seasons of Arthur

Chapter 13

It was all well and good for Dirandon to scorn Lancelot for not being seen in the shield wall, but I was terrified of it. I had killed a man, charged an enemy and stood in a shield wall while an enemy charged at it.

But never had I been in the clash of shield walls, and I dreaded it.

Men warned me constantly of the dangers, of the blades coming up from under the shields, the press of the blows, the axe hooking your shield, and it terrified me. I was convinced I was a coward for it, for I constantly had to relieve myself when the talk turned to standing in the wall and I would laugh nervously, making poor jokes to cover my fear.

Weirdly I had been looking forwards to it for weeks, months, years even. I had imagined myself tall and strong in the shield wall, cleaving shields apart with my sword and bursting through the pierce the lines with the cracking of shields and men.

However, I was quickly losing faith in myself as a soldier. I knew that I was skilled in the broken melee, but as Aglovale had constantly reminded me, that counted for nothing in the press of the shield wall. I was a big lad but I felt like nothing compared to the men around me. They were big and powerful men. They talked of the many men they'd killed, the wounds they'd survived, the miles they marched... all while my feet cracked and bled from the march eastwards. I tried to hide my hobble, walking proudly and stubbornly refusing to comment on my struggle. Nobody mentioned my struggle, so that I felt certain that at least I was doing a good job in hiding it but I learned that it happens to all new soldiers, and the experienced men can pick it out. Still, maybe in the company of men who mocked everything, their lack of mockery was in part to my attitude towards my feet, insisting on carrying on. Dirandon of course knew, he had already helped to show us how to maintain ourselves on the march and now he told to air my feet whenever we stopped, and that in time my feet would harden like leather and rarely blister. "It's just something else we train." He told me. I didn't listen to him, like the stubborn fool I was, I was too concerned about showing signs of pain or weakness in front of the men.

As intimidating as their toughness was their air of easy competence. Everything they did seemed simple, fast and easy. From their long, casual strides on the march, how quickly they could build a fire while I would cut my hands to pieces striking flints, or even the way they maintained their weapons. Every morning and evening the men would clean their weapons, and they seemed to do it so fast. Men carried grease to smear down their blades to help battle the rust that threatened their blades. But even with a blade that was supposed to rust less than their simple iron, I would still be scrubbing at some speck of ruddy red while they had already sheathed their swords.

I was spending more and more time with Dirandon now, acting as his runner while Owain spent more and more time with Ambrosius and Lancelot. Despite my resolve to be there for Owain I was still resentful and struggling with jealousy. What was more I was strangely lonely. It is a horrible feeling, loneliness, it can eat at you from the belly outwards, and there is a heart breaking irony of feeling alone while you're surrounded by people. Even when many of those would call you mate, drink with you and fight to the death besides you, but I still felt apart from them, cut off and stranded on a deserted island, unable to reach the ships I saw sail by never knowing of my plight.

I was not part of this brotherhood of men yet, and so I was different, I was probably not as alienated as some others who had gone before me, my status meant they could not bully me too much, and yet that status was a void in itself between the men and myself, I had not proven myself and even if I were able to I would still remain the spoiled little rich boy to them, resented, or pitied maybe for being an orphan. Men felt that they could not criticise their leaders around me, which I have found is a favoured past time among soldiers who love to moan about anything and everything.